Significant Others by Armistead Maupin Page B

Wimminwood, playmates with similar home environments. What better reinforcement could she find for them?
    She adjusted Edgar’s blanket, then leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. His eyes popped open instantly.
    “You weren’t asleep,” she whispered.
    “Did you have a good time?” he asked.
    “Yes, darling.” She sat on the edge of the bed and brushed the hair off his forehead. “How ‘bout you?”
    “That sitter is a retard,” he said.
    “Why?”
    “She likes David Lee Roth.”
    “You didn’t give her a hard time, did you?”
    He shook his head.
    “Go to sleep, then. In the morning I’ll tell you about a great trip we’re gonna take to the Russian River.”
    “D’or told me already,” he said.
    “She did? When?”
    “Long time ago.”
    She wasn’t surprised. It was typical of D’or to marshal the forces before mounting the attack.
    “I can’t go,” Edgar added, “cuz I’m a boy.”
    “Who told you that?”
    “D’or.”
    “Well, she must have been joking, darling.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “You misunderstood her, then. We’re all going. We would never go anywhere without you.” She pulled the blanket up under his chin. “Go to sleep now. Before we wake up Anna.”
    She descended the staircase to the foyer, her face burning with anger. She could hear the sitter’s car spewing gravel in the driveway as she cornered D’or in the kitchen. “Did you tell Edgar he couldn’t go to Wimminwood with us?”
    D’or opened the refrigerator and took out a half-gallon carton of milk. “No. Of course not.”
    “He says you did.”
    “Well, I didn’t, dammit. I told him just the opposite, in fact. I said we should all go this year, because he’s not ten yet.” D’or set a saucepan on the stove and poured milk into it.
    “And?” prodded DeDe.
    “And … little boys don’t get to go when they’re ten. It’s the rule, DeDe. I wanted to be up front about it. Children can understand rules.”
    “This is what I hate, you know. This is exactly what I hate.”
    “Oh, c’mon.”
    “This doctrinaire bullshit, this … this …”
    “You want some cocoa?”
    “You hurt Edgar’s feelings, D’or. A little boy doesn’t understand what’s so threatening about his penis.”
    “I’ll talk to him—all right?”
    “When?”
    D’or opened the cabinet, removed a can of cocoa and handed it to DeDe. “Fix us some and bring it to the bedroom. I’ll be there in a little while.”
    DeDe was still fuming when D’or finally joined her in bed. “Is he O.K.?” she asked.
    “Just fine,” said D’or.
    “What did you tell him?”
    “I told him they made that rule about little boys because ten-year-old boys were almost men, and men were all rapists at heart.”
    “D’or, goddamnit!”
    “All right. Jesus … don’t hit me.”
    “Then tell me what you told him.”
    “I told him I explained things all wrong.”
    “Is that all?”
    “No. I told him it wouldn’t be any fun without him along, and that I love him just as much as you do. Then Anna woke up and asked me what smegma was.”
    “What?”
    “That Atkins kid called her smegma today.”
    DeDe groaned. “That little brat has the foulest—” The phone rang before she could finish the tirade. D’or reached for the receiver, mumbled hello, and passed it to DeDe. “It’s your mother,” she said, grinning. “Ask her what smegma is.”
    DeDe gave her a nasty look, then spoke into the receiver. “Hello, Mother.”
    “Don’t use that tone with me.”
    “What tone? I just said hello.”
    “I can tell when you’re being snide, darling.”
    “It’s after midnight, Mother.”
    “Well, I would have called you earlier, but I got busy.” “Busy” sounded more like “bishy.”
    “Go on, then,” said DeDe.
    “Were you asleep?”
    “No, but we’re in bed.”
    “Don’t be vulgar, DeDe.”
    “Mother …”
    “All right, I called to ask if you and D’orothea would come for lunch on Sunday. With the children, of